A Taste Of Amber

by Penny Birch

  After that I told him I wanted revenge of some sort on Rathwell. He advised against it, pointing out that Rathwell was likely to accept any challenge I made and then concoct some Machiavellian scheme that would leave me getting punished again. He also pointed out that as I was now challenging I would undoubtedly be made to accept a tougher deal than before.

  ‘He’ll put up a high stake to tempt you, and then win by bending the rules,’ Henry insisted. ‘I’ve seen him do it before. There was a girl called Sara in the club once, a pretty little thing with almost white hair and freckles. She thought she could outwit him but she ended up letting him bugger her. You wouldn’t want that would you?’

  ‘No,’ I admitted, but it made no difference. I still wanted my revenge.

  There was another meet at the very beginning of September, which we were going to and I had decided to challenge Rathwell there. The problem was how? Over the next two weeks I spent a lot of time pondering Henry’s old albums and picking his brains. We also tried plenty of pony-girl games and other sexual diversions. He introduced me to having my bottom and breasts tickled with stinging nettles, which helps to give a great orgasm but then throbs all night. I enjoyed the birch more, especially being sent out to pick a bundle for my own punishment and then being caught unexpectedly in the scullery and thrashed with my jeans and pants pulled unceremoniously down over my hips.

  I learnt a lot during that August, and came to accept things that before would have been unthinkable. Not that my basic character changed, just my ideas of what was and was not acceptable. I can’t really deny that Henry corrupted me, at least in the conventional sense, but there was never a more willing pupil.

  What finally gave me an idea of how to beat Rathwell was something that Henry wouldn’t do. This was a game called pursuit-capture-punishment, which had many variations but essentially involved releasing a wild pony-girl into the woods and retrieving her, in bondage and well spanked. Henry’s group had generally played it with one girl and several hunters, the prize being the captured pony-girl’s submission. Henry declared himself too old and fat for it, pointing out that I would be able to elude him all day without difficulty. Rathwell was pushing fifty and, while he obviously kept himself in shape, it was my guess that his opinion of his own fitness greatly exceeded the reality. Also, when he had played the game at Henry’s he had never been particularly good, being too tall and nothing like agile enough to catch a nimble girl. By contrast I had plenty of stamina and was sure I could catch Melody or Harmony. Although I could have played the part myself or got Ginny back over, neither of us had the characteristics that made the perfect wild pony-girl. Henry stated that the best runners were always small, lissom girls who combined brains with an indifference to mud and scratches. The description fitted one person I knew exactly: Susan Wren.

  The next problem was getting Rathwell to accept the challenge. The knack seemed to be to make him think he could win and that it was me he’d be chasing.

  His September meet was in an old aircraft hanger in Essex. Ginny came with us and managed to win her class in the pony-girl show Rathwell had arranged. This was mainly because she looked good enough to eat, but partly because of the smart turnout Henry and I had achieved and the quality of my tack. Not only did Vicky Belstone remind me that I had promised to make her some, but several other club members expressed an interest. By the end of the meet I was seriously considering taking pony-girl harness manufacture up as a sideline to whatever craft I set up in.

  It was at the after-meet party that I finally got a chance to talk properly to Rathwell. He had been showing me attention and making his normal remarks about my body and sexual ability, but there had always been too many other people around to make my challenge. I had managed a measure of revenge by persuading Harmony that it was only fair to let me spank her. She was doubtful at first, saying that she really ought to ask Rathwell’s permission. I ran a fingernail down the back of her neck and a minute later she was across my knee in one of the toilets with her beautiful dark-chocolate bottom stuck up while I spanked her. Rathwell was less than pleased when he found that Harmony’s bottom had been smacked without his permission, his reason being that we hadn’t let him watch. That got him in just the mood I wanted him in and, when he had finished demanding that both Harmony and I take canings from him and Melody, I made my challenge.

  ‘A pursuit-capture-punishment at old Henry’s place?’ he said. ‘Nice idea, nice idea, but I want some serious stakes this time, no puppy stuff.’

  ‘What about the unqualified submission of the loser to the winner?’ I suggested. ‘Barring penetration and subject to stop words.’

  ‘Come on,’ he laughed. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday. That would mean you could tie my balls to the cart if you wanted but I couldn’t shag you, and that’s what I want.’

  I winced but had to concede his point, a ban on penetration was definitely an advantage to me. He was evidently less off balance than I’d hoped, as the next comment proved.

  ‘You know you really want me to fuck you, Amber darling,’ he continued, ‘so that’s part of my stake.’

  ‘Hang on,’ I responded, trying to regain control of the discussion. ‘My virginity’s really not on offer.’

  ‘We’ll see about that, but what about your button, then? I bet that’s tight.’

  It took me an instant to register what he was saying and I then realised he was suggesting buggering me. Anal penetration had always held a sort of depraved fascination for me. I didn’t mind a finger so much and I’d made Ginny kiss my anus often enough, but the idea of Morris Rathwell’s cock in my rectum left me speechless.

  ‘Dirty bastard!’ Ginny put in, and both Melody and Harmony gave him disapproving looks.

  ‘I think not, Morris,’ Henry remarked.

  ‘Well, you’ve got to try,’ Rathwell responded, completely unabashed by everyone’s disapproval. ‘You’ve got to make a decent bet of it, sweetie. Where’s the fun unless you’ve really got something to lose?’

  ‘And win,’ I reminded him. ‘If you want to put up heavy stakes for me, you’d better be able to match them. I don’t think you can.’

  ‘Wait a minute, girl,’ Rathwell answered, clearly stung by my comment. ‘No one, but no one says, that Morris Rathwell can’t match their stake. If you think your fanny’s so bloody precious I’ll put up three acres of prime land against it, freehold. That’s fifteen grand, of anybody’s money.’

  ‘Morris!’ Harmony gasped.

  He was basically valuing my virginity against three acres of land, an idea that obviously appalled Harmony but didn’t seem that awful to me. I hesitated, and then realised that there was something Rathwell had forgotten.

  ‘I’ll take it,’ I answered boldly. “The three acres against intercourse with me.’

  ‘Amber!’ Ginny exclaimed.

  ‘Amber, are you sure about this?’ Henry added.

  ‘Don’t do it, girl,’ Harmony put in.

  ‘Hey, the girl wants it, can’t you see?’ Rathwell replied, with his face set in the most lascivious expression I had ever seen. ‘You’re on, sweetie, so you had better make yourself ready for Morris’s big red happy stick.’

  ‘Tiny pink happy stick would be more accurate,’ I answered, and turned on my heel, hearing a snicker behind me; Melody’s I think.

  Henry and Ginny were pretty surprised by the bet I had accepted, but I had been unable to resist. If there was one thing I wanted more than anything else it was a piece of land of my own on which to set up my business. Renting was all very well, but ownership of land would give me a solid base from which to defy my father. Then there was the point that Rathwell had missed in the heat of the moment. He didn’t just want to fuck me, he wanted my virginity. He had a thing about it, and had often asked intimate questions to find out if I was still innocent on the numerous occasions he had tried to corner me at my parents’ house. I was a virgin when I made the bet, but that didn’t mean I would be one when the day came to risk submitting
to him – not that I intended to lose.

  I suppose it would have been easy to ask Henry to fuck me, and I’m sure he’d have been gentle and careful. I’d seen Ginny’s vagina stretched around his cock, though, and, to be honest, was a little scared of the sheer size of it. Next to Henry’s, Rathwell’s cock was like a chipolata next to a salami and I knew I would have no more difficulty taking it than I did the handle of my hairbrush. That wasn’t the point. I was prepared to risk getting fucked by Rathwell, but determined not to give him the satisfaction of having taken my virginity. If I won, he would never have to know but, if I lost, I would tell him afterwards.

  It also occurred to me that letting one of the farm boys seduce me would be easy. Several had shown interest and would have been on top of me and humping away in the hay almost before I’d made my acceptance clear. The problem was that doing so would cause complications in that they’d then expect to be around me all the time. What I needed was an older, understanding man who didn’t have a penis that would have looked more in proportion on a donkey.

  The result of being so fussy was that by the second week in September I was still a virgin and beginning to suspect myself of putting it off. I had, however, managed to get in contact with Susan and arrange to visit her in Oxford. Her letter had been pretty direct, pointing out that we had unfinished business and telling me to bring my school uniform. On the way up I couldn’t stop thinking about the implications of this and, by the time I got to her college, I was ready to throw her on the bed, spank her and have her on the spot.

  Finding a note stuck to her door telling me she had gone punting came as a bit of a downer. I was supposed to meet her at somewhere called Rainbow Bridge, which I finally managed to identify, and found her lying back in a punt with a man seated at the opposite end. Vowing that I would take the inconvenience of lugging my case halfway across Oxford out on her bottom, I hailed them across the river.

  Susan sat up and I immediately realised that something very dubious was going on. She was dressed in her school uniform, right up to the tie, which I was sure wasn’t normal dress for undergraduates. She waved cheerfully and indicated that I should cross the bridge to them. The bridge was an arch of concrete looping high over the river and from the top of it I could see right down into their punt, making me doubly certain that she was up to something. At Bridestowe our skirts had been a demure knee-length affair and girls, such as Ginny, who tried to wear them any shorter quickly got ticked off. Susan’s skirt was of the pleated dull-green tartan it had always been but had been altered so drastically that in her sitting position I could see the front of her panties. So could the man who was punting with her.

  He was of medium height and indeterminate age, with sandy hair and glasses that produced an intensely intellectual look. Although slim, a slight paunch hinted at too much good living, while muscular arms protruding from rolled-up sleeves suggested participation in more sedentary sports.

  ‘Hi, Amber,’ Susan greeted me. ‘This is my tutor, Dr Rudge. Francis to us. Francis, this is Amber, whom I told you about.’

  ‘Delighted.’ Dr Rudge greeted me, taking my hand to help me down into the punt.

  There was a definite twinkle in his eye and I wondered just how much Susan had told him. Feeling a little embarrassed and once more vowing to take it out on Susan’s bottom, I made myself comfortable beside her and quickly fell back into a conversation as easy as those we had had at school. She looked as mischievous and impish as ever, perhaps more so with her skin tanned from her time in the Caribbean and her hair cut into a short, boyish style. The sun had brought her freckles out, and she actually looked more like the popular image of a public-school girl than she had when she really was one.

  Dr Rudge turned the punt up river, away from the spires and towers of the university. At first we passed several other punts, also houses and schools on the bank. Then we passed under a bridge and were gliding between open fields with the willows that lined either bank shading most of the river. It was a hot day, and blissfully easy just lying back in the punt and sliding noiselessly along. They had loaded a hamper with goodies and we took lunch in the shade of a willow, washing down oysters and cold ham with champagne and then a pink wine similar to the one Henry favoured.

  As we ate Susan explained how she had quickly become involved with her tutor. His combination of intellect and lack of inhibition had appealed to her and, despite her initial intention of coming out as a lesbian, she had soon found herself as his girlfriend. It didn’t surprise me particularly. Dr Rudge had effectively taken the place in her life which I, and also Ginny, had occupied while she was at school. He was older than her and in a position of authority; both characteristics I knew she liked. Also, while somewhat quiet, there was a strength and confidence about him that I could see would be strongly appealing to her.

  When we had finished we relaxed for a while and then started up river again, coming into even more lovely country with poplar plantations and little woods on the banks. It was very beautiful and very calming. The river was so clear that we could see the sandy bottom three feet or so below us. In many places there were small islands, some of the trees even joining over our heads to enhance the beauty of the river. I was trailing a finger in the water, half-drunk and totally at ease in the warm sunshine. Nobody had spoken for while, all three of us content to enjoy the drowsy late summer afternoon in silence. Susan had her head on my shoulder and was playing with my hair, an intimacy which Dr Rudge took completely in his stride.

  ‘Amber,’ she said, very quietly and with a catch in her voice that I remembered from a certain viaduct in Devon. ‘If your uniform’s in your case why don’t you get into it?’

  ‘And then?’ I asked, pretty sure what was coming.

  ‘Spank me,’ she answered, so timidly that it put an instant lump of desire in my throat.

  I’d spent a lot of time over the previous three months thinking about what I’d do with Susan when we finally had the chance. If she wanted it in front of her tutor, then that was fine by me. I also remembered how she liked it.

  ‘Steer the punt back behind that little island please, Francis,’ I instructed.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he replied, with evident relish.

  The island provided a short section of water overhung with willows and blackthorn, and was peaceful and isolated enough for me to spank Susan without fear of interference. I rummaged in my case as the punt turned slowly back, finding my uniform and passing it to Susan item by item.

  Once in the shelter of the island I climbed on to the bank and changed, the feeling of getting into a uniform once so familiar now producing an odd sensation of doing something improper. Dr Rudge turned his back politely as I stripped and passed my clothes to Susan. She made no secret of her attention to my body, watching me undress with such open admiration that when I was naked it was more than I could resist not put my hands on my hips and ask her if she liked what she saw.

  She blushed prettily and nodded, handing me a pair of school-style white panties and asking if I would leave my bra off. I’d been intending to wear rather a nice lacy one for her, but complied with her wish although I knew that the light top would leave my breasts easily distinguishable to Dr Rudge. In my mind he came in the same category as Henry – a pleasant man I could trust. His relationship with Susan also put him in the category of being somebody I had no concern showing off in front of.

  As I finished dressing I found that I could well appreciate the fantasy that Susan had created. When we had been about to punish her on the viaduct she had said that she wished it had happened for real at school. Whether she would have actually enjoyed it if it had I wasn’t sure, but the idea of spanking her myself had been one of my favourite fantasies and her being in her uniform was very much a part of that. Now we could indulge ourselves without fear of recrimination. Dr Rudge could watch and, when Susan’s bottom was red and hot, I could invite him to take advantage of her turned-on state and then watch myself. Only when I was adjusting my
socks did Susan drop the bombshell on me.

  ‘I told Francis about your little difficulty,’ she said shyly, ‘and he’d be happy to volunteer if you like.’

  ‘I’d be honoured, in fact,’ he added.

  ‘About Rathwell …’I began.

  ‘Yes,’ Susan answered.

  I found myself blushing furiously and, for a moment, was lost for a response. However, the best course of action was suddenly obvious. If they could be open about me with each other, then there was no reason to hold myself back.

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly earnt your spanking, you little brat,’ I said, grabbing Susan and pulling her towards me.

  She stumbled and sat down hard on the muddy bank, soiling her skirt and squeaking as I took her by the ear. A low willow branch provided me with an impromptu spanking seat and I had quickly hauled the protesting Susan across my lap. Her skirt was smeared with mud, with a good slice of her panties showing beneath it, clean and white. I lifted her skirt, ignoring her kicks and half-delighted, half-alarmed squeals. Her pants were stretched taut, bulging with cheeky teenage bottom; ideal for spanking purposes. I tugged them down, feeling her start to tremble as her pert little rear came into view.

  I settled her panties around her thighs and started to spank, holding her tight around the waist and making sure that no section of her bottom escaped its share of slaps, just as Henry always did when I was in the same ignominious position over his knee. Susan made no attempt at retaining her dignity or modesty, squealing and kicking for all she was worth. Dr Rudge stood coolly admiring his young girlfriend getting beaten.

  Her buttocks were soon nicely red and her squeals had started to give way to moans. I carried on, revelling in the pleasure of giving a spanking that I had so often fantasised over. Occasionally I would glance over to Dr Rudge, finding him completely absorbed in the scene in front of him. For all my excitement I was unsure about letting him take my virginity. After all, however intimate he was with Susan, I’d only met him that afternoon. She had told him that I needed it, though, which made me feel vulnerable and almost panicky, especially as deep down I knew that I was unlikely to get a better opportunity. I put new effort into the task of warming Susan’s bottom, taking out my anxiety on her as well as extracting a leisurely revenge and readying myself for sex.